Lynne's Studio

The rain starts again. I'm not a church goer but was planning to visit St Aidan's to hear Beth play the organ, and to represent the family so that I could catch up with Lionel's gang. But the service is 9:30 and I'm not up early enough to go for a bike ride then get there on time. Maybe Easter. There are lots of little jobs round the house, cupboards to empty, possessions to sort. I get distracted by nectarines which are getting soft and developing mold patches, and make nectarine chutney. Think I'm getting a bit obsessive; chutney, pickles, sauce...it's time to stop. 

Lynne Wilson is opening a ceramics studio in her Cromwell house. The heavens open up while I'm driving through the gorge. I arrive early and chat to two older women. One has been going to Thailand every year to work with orphans. She's twitchy sitting at home only able to think about it, adding up how much more it's going to cost for airfares and insurance when she's able to travel again. The other has been living in Western Oz but built a house in Cromwell. Her husband died and she's a free agent used to travel. Life in Covid for older women. Closing down and as time passes opportunities to resume former freedoms diminishes. I had been thinking of working off shore but Covid is limiting choices and as I get older this seems less likely. I'm losing motivation too. New Zealand is safe and secure. It's where we are, not where we'd like to be. I meet a woman who lives on Airport Road and remembers Tui and Lionel. Said she sat beside Tui at a dinner and they had such a great chat it wouldn't have mattered if no-one else had been there. I tear up. My mum was special to me and special to others. 

Lynne's display of work in the home she shared with her mum, now in an old folks' home, and her son, who she'd like to be more independent and more tidy, is glorious. Her garden is lush and beautiful. Both are colourful- Lynne on the inside.